Mutant City
by Cara Lea
Summary: This year is the 66th annual Hunger Games. From all the districts, brutal, weary, sad, and angry children are chosen, 1 boy and 1 girl, to represent their districts in the Games. I am from District 7, and this year I have been chosen. I am scared, and alone. I feel sad for my fellow tributes, because all of them will have to die for me to live.
1. Chapter 1

The day of the Reaping brings an early wake-up. It's supposed to be a holiday, where we're allowed to sleep in, but I am cursed with an early wake-up every year. Since I'm not in a hurry, I usually decide to lay in bed and wait. No one else in the house is awake, which both surprises and offends me. I have 4 older siblings, all 18 or above. Back when we were all younger, it used to be that we'd all wake up early in the morning and have breakfast together on the day of the Reaping. When my oldest siblings, a small girl by the name of Aspen was 15, she put her foot down. I remember the day vividly.

"If I'm going to be picked to be _murdered_ , I think I should spend my last day as a free man sleeping in!" she'd screamed at my parents. At the time, I was 11, and I'd wanted to cry.

"Don't say that!" I'd pleaded. "You won't be picked. And you're always saying how you'd never die if you get picked because you're such a fighter."

Aspen had laughed in my tear-filled face. "You think being a fighter means anything in these games? I'm a poor person from 7! Sponsors will ignore me, and I'll be lucky to survive the first day! Have you seen the Careers from 2?"

We were lucky. That year, as I clutched my mother's arm, I could only think one thought: That none of my 4 siblings get picked. That was the year I was the only child in my family not in the Reaping pool, so I had all of the older ones to worry about.

The girl they picked was an 18 year old named Charmaine Ramsey. The boy they picked was 14. His name was Hickory Dodge. Watching the television, seeing Caesar Flickerman talk about how District 7 produced someone named Dodge and someone named Ramsey, I felt myself change. They thought it was funny. They were entertained. I was angry. How could they make fun of those poor people, sentenced to death? I remember looking at my siblings and wondering if the next year, it would be any of us.

Only it hadn't been. Each year, we somehow escaped. But ever since that year, the year where I stopped babying myself and realized what the Hunger Games were really about, I sought out the families of all the tributes and gave them a flower. It wasn't a lot, but it was the only thing I knew I could do. Hopefully they knew how much I felt for them.

Now, I am 17, and only two of us are in the Reaping pool. That meant three of my siblings had outgrown the Hunger Games. I missed those early breakfasts, and was a little offended that my siblings could all peacefully sleep in when the two youngest children in the family were signing themselves up for death today.

I peered over at Aspen, comfortably asleep next to me. Our house is little more than a shack. All five of us kids have to sleep in one room, while my parents sleep in the foyer/kitchen. I know that they are awake, because I can hear the murmuring. They are nervous for me and for Birch.

Speaking of Birch…I glance over at the other bed, where two of the boys are curled asleep. The third sleeps on the floor. It used to be Birch sleeping on the floor, but ever since Chester outgrew the bed, he has. Chestnut is the oldest boy, followed by Olive, and then Birch. And then me.

All of my siblings are stubborn, and for some reason, always angry. Aspen is the oldest of us, but the shortest. She hates being treated like a "woman" in District 7. Everyone in the district is supposed to be treated the same, but for some reason, small women are viewed as pathetic. For that reason, she started going by male pronouns, cut her hair down really short, and even uses the nickname Hemlock, which is more masculine. Although I want to help her in this endeavor, I try to keep her from the spotlight. I do call her Hemlock and use male pronouns on special occasions.

Chester and Olive are both very athletic, and work out in the woods. Chester helps cut down the trees, and Olive helps carry the lumber back. Aspen and Birch work in the paper factory. I work there with them for now, but I'm hoping to be a schoolteacher.

Birch is 18. This is his last year in the Reaping pool. You wouldn't know looking at him, fast asleep on the bed across the room. I know that Birch will be nervous, but for now, he takes that out in his sleep. I wonder if he has bad dreams.

I decide to get up this morning. My shoulder hurts and my heart aches to _do_ something. Maybe if I get a decent breakfast, I'll feel better about the whole thing. I put on the only nice thing I have: A long blue and green patterned dress. It's a little loose; it was once my mothers. But I love the way it looks on me.

I go into the kitchen where my parents are already up. "Good morning," father says tersely. I can tell that he is in one of those moods, where you simply go with him. He usually gets this way on the day of the Reaping.

"Morning," I answer politely and take a seat at the table. For breakfast I get bread with cheese. This is a standard. Usually, we skip breakfast in my house, but my mother always makes sure us putting our name into the Reaping pool gets a nice breakfast the day of the Reaping.

It just reminds me of the breakfasts we used to have before Aspen put her foot down. "Thanks mom," I say, trying not to sound morose.

My mom squeezes my shoulder before walking away. My family is not rich. In fact, we are barely making ends meet. The fact is, life in District 7 is just too expensive to justify having 5 children. My parents told me once that they didn't mind the extra stress, as they were just happy to have all 5 of us. I couldn't say why. After all, each year they had to watch us one at a time sign up for the death games. Why would they want to have that panic 5 times over?

It is noon when the others start getting up, which is late even by their standards. Olive and Chester come out first, and get a slice of bread with cheese spread first, followed by Birch. He looks ridiculous in his suit that is clearly two sizes too small for him, but no one tells him that. Aspen is always late to come out. This year, she looks more relaxed than I've ever seen her at the Reapings. Of course. She's not putting her name in. I wonder if she's worried about us two or if she thinks our luck strike will continue.

There's a bit of a rush out the door. We have to be there in enough time to sign in. My parents have never allowed us to sign up for a tesserae, which is an option in our district. That is to say, if a family is poor, but you volunteer your name an additional time, you will receive enough grain to feed one person for a year. In a family like mine, tesserae could mean the difference between starvation and survival.

Only my parents would never allow it. My dad sometimes pulled in long extra hours to make enough money to feed us all, a fact he was quick to remind us of if we ever got too much attitude. Life is hard, he'd say. That's why I work all day every day.

Even my mother, who has injuries to both legs, works long hours to help us out. And each of us kids works too, but that's the rules of district.

Since I am 17, my name will be entered 6 times. Birch's name will be entered 7. I know of people who have entered their name 30 times for the tesserae grain to feed large families, larger than ours. One of them is a girl I go to school with by the name of Salena. She is a good person. But on the day of the Reaping, I have no room to worry for her.

Since Birch and I have to be there early, our mom takes us separate from the rest. We quickly hug our siblings and father and rush out the door. Being 17 and 18, Birch and I really don't need an escort to walk around town, but we appreciate the gesture all the same. This could very well be the last walk we ever take with our mother.

Mom hugs us each maybe a little longer than she normally would before peeling away to join the already gathering crowd. Birch doesn't look at me as they prick his finger and take a drop of blood. Then he signs his name and joins the crowd of the other 18 year olds. Before he is completely gone, though, he whirls around gives me a nervous thumbs up and a deep, "Good luck."

"And you," I say back as my line moves forward. Birch just nods, and then he is gone, vanished into the crowd. I am alone now.

I am next in line. When the official, a grumpy lady dressed in a white uniform gives a monotone, "Next!" I step forward. At this point, she is about to take my blood and prints and I am telling myself that I am not nervous.

The prick doesn't hurt. Much less like a splinter that one often gets living in District 7. It is signing my name on the paper that makes my stomach churn very uncomfortably. I hate this part, as it is openly an acknowledgement that I could very well be dead in a week. Since my family has so far avoided being Reaped, I try to tell myself that the chances of me being picked are slim to none and I have nothing to worry about. I can't quite convince myself and so I enter the roped off area with a stomachache.

By now a full crowd is emerging from the shadows of the buildings. A man with dark hair and eyes sits up on stage next. His name is Coeus. He is our Capitol attendant and district escort. It will be his deep, almost reassuring voice that will be announcing who goes to their death this year.

Then there are the previous victors of the games. There are no female victors from 7, but a few males. There's Dedalus Orange, a bald man with a small beard, who won his games when he was 15, but is now in his 30's. He is chatting quietly with Emerson Coll. Emerson is our second youngest victor at 29, who won his games 12 years ago by surviving a forest fire. He still has scars down his side where they couldn't quite erase the flames from his body. The youngest, Blight Tannem isn't here. Or at least I can't see him from where I am. Even though he is required to come, Blight hardly goes out of his way, and the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to him. There are others, some much older, who don't look very pleased to be there and are looking out into the crowd. I wonder what goes through their minds as they see the District 7 children line up to die.

Our mayor steps out. His name is Ambrose and he is actually Emerson's older brother by about 4 years. Ambrose is strict as can be, and works closely with our Head Peacekeeper to assure adherence to the rules. I wonder if he actually enjoys the games or not. It is strange, knowing a victor's relative uses his power to enforce the rules of the very game that could've killed his sibling off.

Ambrose gives the old speech, starting at the very beginning, how our nation rose as a different one fell, how the Capitol and 13 districts maintained life in peace until a rebellion was sparked. He went on talking about the Dark Days and the rebellion, how 13 was destroyed and the Hunger Games started.

Then Coeus steps up and takes the microphone while Ambrose sits back down. "And now, we will draw the names. Lady's first!" his voice is deep. He doesn't sound excited, the way some of the district escorts do, but sort of ready, as if he had been waiting for this for a long time. He steps up to the glass ball that has my name in it 6 times and reaches in. I don't think I am breathing as his hand clasps a piece of paper and pulls it out. He walks carefully back to the microphone and reads the name out loud.

"Maple Griffin."

It is my name.


	2. Chapter 2

I am in shock, this I know. I can't let this get to me, I can't. I feel as if I am in hyper-mode, where everything is crystal clear and I am slightly dizzy. I know from experiencing the Reaping from the audiences' perspective for years that I need to move forward. This isn't real, can't be happening. Maybe I am asleep.

I can't tell if I'm shaking or not but think I might be as I cross the grounds. It doesn't take more than a few minutes but everyone is watching me and it feels like years. My feet manage to make their way up the steps and onto the stage. I see the faces of the past victors staring at me and I wonder what is going through their minds. How very little I am in comparison to what the Career tributes are sure to be? My obvious fear and confusion? Can they tell that I am in hyper-mode?

There is polite, brisk applause before Coeus goes over the boy's ball. I look desperately for my brother, but can't find his face and I think I might be panicking when he reads the name aloud. "Chrome Hartzel."

Chrome. I've only ever seen him around, talked to him in one word sentences. He is a surly boy from the poorer part of the district. We're not neighbors, per say, because he is a little better off than my family, but we see each other around.

He has dark skin, dark eyes, and long hair that hides his expression. He doesn't look shocked or scared or anything. He simply looks the way he always does: Angry.

There are no volunteers. No one wants to go into the Games. I still can't find my brother's face but I just know that he is worried. No longer will my family have to worry about one of us being Reaped because the worst has already happened. Birch has outgrown the Reaping and I am being sent to my death. In one fell swoop, my family no longer has to worry about the Reapings each year.

Chrome and I stand side by side as they read the Treaty of Treason. Ambrose recites this in a monotone while us tributes stand there stiffly. Afterwards, we are required to shake hands. I try to catch Chrome's eye when we do this but he ignores me as if I am just a statue. He doesn't smile, nod, or anything. The only sign that he registers my presence is his grip crushing my fingers before we break apart and are ushered our separate ways.

I find myself in a carpeted room in the Justice Building before reality strikes me. This is really happening. I am going to be in the Hunger Games. Not on my own will, but by the will of those much more powerful than me.

My first thought is that, somehow, this will all work out. I don't know how, but in the end, I will be okay. And it is this thought that comforts me as my family enters the room to say their goodbyes.

Mom is crying. I know that she wants to hide it from me but can't. I bite my lip and feel my own tears welling as I cross into her open arms. Mom has always been my warmth, the source of comfort I go to when I need it, and sometimes when I don't. I need her now more than ever, but I can't let this show.

The first person to speak is Olive. "Well," he says, reaching out to pat me on the shoulder. "It was nice knowing you sis."

My dad slaps him upside the head.

"Seriously," Chester says. "You can do this. I know you can. Just find shelter and don't be afraid."

I look into his gray eyes and say, "I won't be."

Aspen puts her arms around my waist and pulls me into a hug. "You've always been a good, stubborn sister. You're fast and you're smart. Just keep your head up, okay?"

Her words strike me. I know that they are trying to keep my spirits up, but why deny the truth? We all know I am going in for slaughter.

Birch hugs me awkwardly. "I wish it could've been me," he says sadly, feelingly, and for the first time I acknowledge his pain as real. I remember a moment a long time ago when an older boy stole a doll out of my hand when I was very young. It wasn't any of my older siblings, but Birch, who was about the same age, that tracked the boy down and got my doll back. He might be a strange person, but I know that he genuinely has a good heart.

It is this above all that gives me strength. "Don't," I say. "I'll be okay. Do you really think I could sit back and watch you…go into this?"

"Better me than you," is all Birch has to say.

My father grabs my arm and pulls me into a hug. "No matter what, we're all rooting for you."

And then the Peacekeepers are there, dragging my family away. "I love you! All of you!" I dash forward and pull my mother into one last, hurried hug before a Peacekeeper shoves me off of her and they're gone. The last interaction I had with my family is done and I will probably never see them again.

I have a few visitors after that. My best childhood friend comes in and we spend the entire time, not talking, but hugging each other in a bear tight hug that leaves one breathless. Then one of my schoolteachers comes in and wishes me luck, reminds me of my resources, and he too hugs me as a signal that I am loved.

Then they come in. One by one, until they all are surrounding me. The families of last tributes. Not all of them are there, but a few of them. The ones from last year's tributes. Hickory Dodge and Charmaine Ramsey's parents and siblings. A sobbing mother from 2 years ago, who's son died within 15 seconds of the gong ringing.

They each have a flower, which they hand to me single file before heading out the door. By the time they are gone, I am showered in petals and fighting back tears that are going to choke me.

The Peacekeepers come in and heard me out into the hallway. Chrome is there, looking down at the ground in what I think might be the first show of emotion since he was Reaped. From there, we load into a car which drives us quickly to the train station. Cameras greet us there. Capitol servants, no doubt, trying to get our attention by calling our names.

Neither Chrome nor I acknowledge their presence, but the parade of victors from District 7 nod here and there at different camera crews, and Dedalus even shakes hands with some of the paparazzi. I am disgusted. What is wrong with these people?

After we are loaded onto the train and pulled out of the platform, I take my first real breath since being Reaped. Coeus and several of the victors are pooled around and talking, but none of them even look at Chrome or me. After several moments just standing there, Chrome looks at me, shrugs, and leaves the car. I am stunned. Did my district partner just do that? Did he really communicate with me, even on that small of a level?

As nobody chases him down, I assume that I too am allowed to go. The train car is a maize, but I manage to find my way to my own quarters. Here, I change my outfit from the nice dress I was wearing to nice pants and simple blouse. Although the pants make me more comfortable than the dress did, it's not the kind of material we have at home, and I feel incredibly uncomfortable in it.

I am not fetched for dinner, but I am getting hungry so I leave my room and head out the way I came in. I couldn't say how, but I manage to find my way to the dinner compartment. To my immense surprise and annoyance, pretty much everyone is already there, including Chrome. I don't know why this bothers me, except that I feel somehow excluded. They didn't tell me when dinner was. They didn't come to fetch me. They probably didn't even bother to look. I am an absolute nobody to them. A heavy feeling falls on me. I cannot rely on these people, I think to myself. If I am going to survive in the arena, I have to count myself out of sponsors. I will be totally alone once the Game starts.

"Oh Maple, there you are," Coeus says as I take my seat. "I was just wondering if you were okay."

"I'm fine," I respond quietly, trying not to let a sour note enter my voice. But why not? These people have already given up on me to the point where they don't care about me at all. "Just got lost."

"But you found your way eventually," says a familiar voice. Emerson Coll is staring at me as if fixated.

"Of course," I answer, not able to resist allowing a bit of frustration to enter my mouth. "It wasn't that hard." Everyone looks around with raised eyebrows, as if I have just said something offensive, but I only have eyes for Coll, and he only has eyes for me.

I can't help but feel belittled. How stupid do these people think I am? A stiff jerk of my head, an angry stab of my fork into my dinner, which looks so unfamiliar I am not sure I can eat it. The conversation starts back up and everyone goes back to ignoring me. At least they seem to be ignoring Chrome too. Or maybe Chrome is ignoring them. At this point, it could go either way.

It looks like all the District 7 victors have come. Only one is missing. I keep forgetting about Blight, who won his games 3 years after Coll, at the same age. Although he won the games, he hardly ever comes out into public. Sometimes, he'll help Olive with loading and unloading lumber, but mostly, he seems to hide out on his own. Then there is Harrus Boulder, and his twin brother Rufus. Rufus was Reaped at 15, Harrus at 18. I was not alive at the time to see it, but I heard about it every Hunger Games since. A total of 5 victors from Seven, only 4 coming to the Games this year.

At the end of dinner, my head and heart are aching again and I think I want to cry. The buildup is definitely there, piling up in my throat and ready to burst out as soon as I am alone again. This is going to be postponed, however, because we have to watch the recap of the Reapings. I didn't realize until this moment that I actually kind of looked forward to knowing who I'd be facing.

At first, I try to remember the names. There are a pair of twins from District 1 named Sheen and Shine. After that, I can't remember the names, but I remember the faces. Each one of them flashes by, some looking excited, most looking resigned. The dark skinned boy and girl from Two, who are so much bigger than me and both jumped on the volunteering. The boy and girl from Three are both pretty small. The boy from Four is so monstrously big it's a little absurd. There's me in Seven, looking politely startled, and Chrome, who looks like he couldn't care less. There's a blind girl in Eight. A 12 year old from Nine. And the two from Twelve look like skeleton's they're so emaciated. The overwhelming amount of us going to our death's almost brings me to tears again. I only just manage to hold off, but I have to get to my room before it starts.

Coeus stops us before we can depart. "Chrome, Maple, let me introduce you to your mentors this year for the games." Rufus Boulder comes forward and takes Chrome's hands in his own.

"Nice to meet you, Chrome. I'm Rufus. Why don't you come with me, we have much to discuss." Rufus must be in his late 50's or early 60's, but this doesn't seem to bother Chrome at all. In fact, for the first time in ever my life, I see his eyes light up with interest and the two walk away, heads together.

"Maple, Emerson Coll will be your mentor," Coeus says in his slow, deep voice. His Capitol accent is much less pronounced that I remember it being ever.

Coll steps forward to take my hand. This is the closest I've ever been to him in my life. It strikes me how tall he is. His eyes, which I always assumed were black, are actually a dark brown, deep set. His nose is a lot bigger in person than the cameras and distance seem to make it. Like Chrome, his dark hair falls to his eyes, only he seems to make an effort to keep it out of his face, which is the exact opposite of my district partner. Also not unlike Chrome but very unlike Coeus is how pale his skin is. I can see the veins and arteries in his neck.

He is also very muscular. I had always viewed him as scrawny, but closeness brings a new appreciation to his muscles. He is wearing a white shirt underneath a black unbuttoned long sleeve button-up. I register that he, too, is wearing comfortable pants from the closet here on the train.

Emerson does not take my hands and shake them, or even say anything for a moment. After an awkward cough and rough goodbye from Coeus, he nods, indicating I should follow him.

We make our way to a comfortable compartment with nothing but soft cushions. Here, he has me stand in the middle of the room while he circles me. I am forcibly reminded of a predator circling prey. Finally, he gives me permission to sit down.

Sitting on a couch, facing him, I think to myself of the intensity of his stare. The entire time he has been watching me, it has been like he has yet to solve a complicated puzzle. Apparently, he still hasn't figured it out. There he is, not even two full feet away from me when he asks what is probably the most down to earth question I've ever heard in relation to the Games.

"So, what do you have to offer me that will help you survive?"

I am so stunned by this question, so confused that it takes me a moment to process this question. "I'm determined," I find myself saying, although I'm not sure this is what he means. "And, resourceful."

My heart sinks. He is shaking his head. "That's nice. But what skills do you have that will keep you alive?"

I open my mouth to say something and nothing comes out. What skills do I have that will keep me alive in the arena? I feel like I have some, now I _know_ I must have some, but in the heat of the moment, nothing comes to mind.

Coll rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Can you climb?" he asks dully. This is my straw. I grasp it.

"Oh, yes, I can climb really well. And um…" my voice dies out as I think again. "Like I said, I'm resourceful. I can find my way around."

He stares at me, clearly unimpressed. "Answer me this question with the first answer you think up." His dark eyes bore into my light ones. "Do you plan on surviving these Games?"

"Yes," I say without thinking. His eyebrows raise and I raise up in defiance. "I do."

Although I usually can't distinguish my tones the way other people do, I would have to be totally deaf to miss the confidence in my voice. Coll bites his lip and tears at a loose piece of skin. His cold fingers squeeze my muscles, and as I start to pull away he does it. Slaps me. Hard.

I am on my feet before I fully realize what happened and have shoved him back. He doesn't resist, but stares at me unimpressed. "Well well," he says to himself. "That could be a problem."

I wonder what he means, but don't have time to ask. He is on his feet before I get my chance. "Tomorrow, you will be delivered into the hands of your prep team and stylist. Do what they say, as they know their job well. For tonight, I want you to go to your room and get lots of rest. Tomorrow, we will come up with a strategy for you."

"Yes, sir," I say as he walks out of the room. My heart is pounding, and I'm not sure whether to feel let down by this experience or excited. If he's coming up with a strategy for me, then clearly he expects me to survive, right? Does this mean I actually stand a chance? And what was that about asking me if I planned on surviving?

For the rest of the night, I wonder to myself what made me say yes. Was it my strong will again, or a fear of death maybe? Do I not want to have my family suffer any more than they already have? In that case, maybe a quick death would be easier…but somehow, I just don't see that happening. One way or another, I will come out of that arena.


	3. Chapter 3

I think my stylist would rather work for District 4. He wears a sea-green suit that matches his sea-green eyes and sea-green make-up. His hair is red orange, and comes up to a peak in the front before falling back into a long ponytail. The glitter on his shirt suggests water. District 7's specialty is lumber. I'll bet he hates being stuck with us.

His name is Titra. My prep team consists of two team members who work very fast and don't talk to me. Early in the morning, when Emerson had woken me to start the day, he gave me explicit instructions to be nice to everyone, to ask questions about the Capitol and reflect openly the differences between here and home in Seven.

"You seem like a nice girl," he'd said. "And if you're not, you better learn to fake it now, cause I want you to be outgoing and nice."

He'd said it was all part of the strategy. If winning people over with my personality was going to help me survive, I could be nice. I could be anything if I thought it would help me win.

Titra stares at me with his green eyes before speaking. At first, I don't pay attention, because I am too focused on his bright orange lipstick.

"What do you think of that, Maple?" he asks. His voice is pretty high pitched for a male.

"It sounds brilliant," I say, giving him a winning smile. His responding smile is so enthusiastic, it makes me a little worried. What on earth did I just agree to?

The first thing they do after cleaning me up is put me in a skintight unitard. I know what these are for. Every year, they take images of the tributes so that in the arena, they can show an image each night of who has fallen. Back at home, we watch the full, mostly bloody deaths in detail, but the tributes only get to see the tributes' pictures. Apparently, watching the gruesome murders of their fellow tributes might give them an unfair advantage.

I think again of my fellow tributes. I haven't seen a single one, not even Chrome, since we arrived. I know they're all here in Remake Center somewhere, but I wouldn't know where. Probably, the majority of them are getting made up in a room similar to mine, in matching tribute attire.

District 7's tribute attire is almost always brown, as it reflects our District industry. Every district has a distinct color. Two is maroon, Four is sea green, Eight is gray, Ten is black and white, Twelve is black, and so on. Nobody else has pointed this pattern out, but I have noticed it throughout the years. To me, it is an identifying factor for those in the arena. There are so many tributes each year that it's hard to remember who's who.

They place me in front of what I assume to be a camera and I must look directly at it. I try to look fierce, but since I'm not sure what exactly I'm supposed to be looking at, I'm sure I'm come across as confused. I get to see the final result. As it turns out, it wasn't just a picture. I am looking around, smiling, and I even blink. I wonder how, in all these years of watching the Hunger Games, I didn't notice that. The expression I am making in the- should I call it a picture? –is what makes it feel real to me. I look politely curious, if a little enticing. At beauty base zero, I really look like me. I can't help but smile at it. I've never seen technology like this.

The picture is sent off and I am stripped of my tunic and my stylist really gets to work on me. While the prep team has managed to prepare me for his outfit, it actually takes a lot of fitting. There is a jumpsuit to start out, completely brown but with a familiar design. I stare at the fabric, trying to place which tree it is based off of. For I know I am going to be a tree. The District 7 tributes have been trees all my life.

There are light brown boots that end in white soles, my hair is brought up and he sprays it relentlessly, both suffocating me and managing to make it stay up. The prep team begins to etch at my face while he drapes something around my neck that touches my ears. Then there is the jacket, where the sleeves end in green puffs. Once my face is complete, each member of my prep team takes one hand and begins to work. I expected nail paint, but the fake nails they glue to me are long and spikey. _Wicked_ is the word that comes to mind.

When I am done, he stands me before a mirror and I look at myself. I am utterly unrecognizable, my hair standing up with green accents, my green eyes accentuated by the make-up. The painted designs on my hands and face looks like I am carved out of wood, and I realize exactly what tree I am supposed to be.

A red maple.

"What do you think?" Titra asks, a little bit of his excitement bleeding over.

"How very…fitting," I say, unable to think of a better word. I am in shock. How did he make this outfit in one day? That was all the time he had to prepare for me, considering I was only Reaped yesterday. And how did he get it to fit to me exactly? Suddenly it occurs to me that this must happen every year. How on earth do the stylists do it?

A new thought chills me to the bone. What if they pick the players in advance, and pretend to Reap them at the Reaping? How long have I really been destined to die?

"Oh yes," his voice is light. "I thought it suited you."

"Yeah," I reply breathlessly. "How did you know my name would be Maple?"

He shrugs. "Lucky coincidence I guess. Never dreamed I'd be so lucky. Now, time to head out."

I don't even have time to worry about just how unlucky I am before we are down in the basement of the Remake Center. The other tributes are standing at their chariots, some looking fabulous in their costumes while other's look downright ridiculous. Here is where I get to look around at the other competition. I'm not sizing them up, really, but I want to see them face to face.

The boy and girl from One are wearing matching outfits. At least I think they're from One. I remember the boy and girl from One are twins, and these two look very alike, with shining blonde hair and glowing blue eyes. They have the same face shape. Their outfits are both made of gold silk with gems embedded in them. They look gorgeous, as usual. I'll bet their stylist loves their job.

There's a girl with auburn hair that is pulled back into a ponytail. Her outfit looks like it is made out of incredible sticking, that makes a very beautiful, noticeable pattern running from her neck down to her feet. She is being lead by her stylist, who is holding her hand. I assume that this must be the girl from Eight, who I remember the moment I see this strange sight is blind. I can't see from here, but her head does not seem to move around as much as those around hers.

Chrome is already at our chariot, looking almost fashionable but mostly laughable in his tree outfit. I don't know who his stylist is, but whoever it was must not have known much about trees, because this is not any tree I've ever seen. I can tell that Chrome is not looking forward to our ride across town. To be honest, I'm not either. Compare us to the people from, say, District 1, and we are totally forgettable. I don't see myself getting many sponsors dressed this way. At least Titra hadn't tried to emulate the tree exactly, but to pose me as one. I can tell that Chrome's stylist had tried to make him look like an actual tree, and had pretty much failed. The couple from One looks normal beside us. No, they look beautiful.

Chrome climbs first onto the chariot. When he reaches down to help me up, I am a little surprised. So far, he has not shown that he's even noticed me. This one gesture is so uncharacteristic. I accept his help, however, and stand beside him on the chariot.

I look at him, wondering if he will acknowledge me from now on. His face is once more it's natural mask, but he is eyeing the girl from Eight and I wonder if it's pity I see behind his neutral face. Suddenly, I don't want Chrome to die. He is not a bad person, doesn't deserve this fate. I wonder what his strategy for winning this game is, if it'll work. Sadness pierces me. I cannot afford to think like this. If Chrome lives, I must die, and I don't want to die. Does that mean I actually want Chrome to die? Is it possible that I want us both to live?

His head turns and he realizes I am watching him. His face turns to one of askance. I shrug and look away, my face burning with embarrassment. If I stay on this path, I am headed for disaster. I cannot for the life of me allow myself to feel this way for Chrome. As a fellow tribute, he is destined to die if I should live. I must not allow myself to think of him as a good person, or even as a friend. From now on, I must set out to ignore Chrome.

But I cannot entirely banish the thoughts. He is a human, and I am going to sit back and let him die.

The doors open and the chariots start to move forward.

Out of nowhere, Coll is right beside us. "Now both of you, look forward. Keep your head up. Maple, I want you to smile and wave. Be cheerful. Be enthusiastic. Chrome, Rufus says to try to smile, and wave some. Stay sharp you two."

The District 6 chariot has pulled out. Now it's our turn.

With a jolt, our chariot starts forward. Our horses trot along at a regular pace and Chrome and I are both clinging to the chariot to stay on. Sunlight pours onto us, momentarily blinding me. Then I see our faces on screen and put on my most winning smile. We will not be on screen long.

Faking a smile when you're down has always been my strongest suit. Having 5 siblings can do that to you. I think of them now. They are probably at home watching me. What do they see? I am dressed in a ludicrous costume cheering and waving to people who are rooting for my death.

Chrome and I do not make much of a big hit, as the screen changes to the District Eight chariot while they pull out. Even though I am not featured, I can see people in the crowd looking at me. I make eye contact with everyone I can and smile brightly. And then I am caught up in the moment. People are going crazy out there, screaming, chanting, and even throwing things at us. One flower hits me in the face. I catch it with my hand and toss it back good naturedly. People in the crowd respond to my throwing by frantically waving. I wave back to show them I've noticed them.

We are at the city circle now, and I know all the chariots are out. As the last 5 chariots still have yet to get here, we begin to circle lazily. Once everyone is arranged, we come to a halt facing the Tribute Center. On a pedestal sits President Snow. He greets the crowd with a few waves of his own before giving his speech. President Snow's speech thanking the tributes for their courage and sacrifice is the same every year. Then he begins about the Treaty of Treason, and why our sacrifice is necessary. It takes a special kind of person to look 24 children in the eyes and tell them how expendable they are, knowing that 23 of us are about to die.

Once his speech is done, we do one more loop around while they show us all one more time. I wave goodbye to a young girl I see in the audience as we are shown on screen, and then we are in the Tribute Center and I can't see the crowd anymore.

I am still smiling when I dismount my chariot. The other Tributes are also climbing down, and I am looking at the 12 year old from Nine jump down into a puddle, splashing his district partner. She yelps in indignation and throws him a nasty look.

"Good job!" Coll's voice is in my ear. I jump in surprise. How did he get here so fast?

"Thanks," I answer, not quite sure what I did good. Oh well. It's a compliment and I'll take it.

"Walk with me," Coll orders. Side by side, we make it to the elevators where he presses the number Seven. "Listen," he begins quietly. "We're going to have dinner with Chrome and Rufus. Afterwards, we need to talk about your strategy. We can do that in my room if you like."

"Whatever works for you," I answer, trying to sound as polite as possible. I see him fight a smile.

"My room then." The doors slide open and I am too stunned to continue the conversation. It's _huge_. There's an area with couches galore adjacent to the dining room. Dinner isn't for another hour, at least, but already, there are dishes piling up. Preparation must already be well under way.

Coll leads me down a hallway with many bedrooms branching off. Mine is at the very end corner. He shows me where his is, two doors down across the hall. I thank him and pad away to my own room. For a moment, I just have to stand there and stare at it. The whole room is probably bigger than my entire house back home. Part of me wishes my family could see it. The other part hopes they never have to.

I peel off my outfit piece by piece, and lay it out neatly on the bed. Stark naked, I walk into the bathroom. The shower has so many panels of buttons, I can't imagine what they're all for. It must be 30 minutes just find the hot water. After I finally get my setting, it takes me nearly another 15 minutes to find the shampoo. Once I manage to find the right settings, the shower itself takes some time. Titra and his minions really caked this make-up and hairspray to my body.

By the time I am done, I feel the most like myself that I've felt since arriving. I brush out my dripping hair, wondering what I'm going to wear. I walk quietly over to the closer and open it, wondering if I'll wear a plain tunic. Instead, I find clothing item after clothing item. I will only be here for a week! How many things do they expect me to wear?

I find a nice sundress and put on pants under it. They are still, brand new, but not altogether unpleasant. It is like this, hair wet, dress damp, and barefoot that I make my way to dinner.

Tonight, I am not late, but right on time. Sitting with Chrome and his team is pretty awkward. We neither talk nor look at each other. Still, I can't stop myself from noticing that he has a particular liking for the shrimp. My stomach aches when I take a bite. It's not bad at all, but not my style. Instead, I find myself enjoying the thin sliced steak and peas.

Our mentors enjoyed our performance. Already, though, they have moved on. They want to talk about other things, and I do my best to successfully ignore them. Coeus joins us mid-meal, having been "busy with the other escorts". I wonder what this means, and spend a lot of dinner imagining him talking with the other escorts, making bets on how long their tributes would last. I feel as if my heart is breaking a little because this is probably exactly what they were doing.

When dinner is done, Chrome walks off with Rufus while Coll and I step into his room. It is a tad bigger than mine, and quite a bit fancier. Ever since Emerson won his games, he's lived in the lap of luxury. I wonder if this will be me soon.

We sit on his bed, and for some reason this makes me uncomfortable. I'm 17, and Emerson is almost 30, so there is nothing between us at all. He is a young attractive man though, and I'd like to hope that he finds some part of me attractive. I can't care for any relationship with him, but if he finds me attractive in any way, it will guarantee me more sponsors.

For a moment we talk about the opening ceremonies. "You were brilliant," he assures me. "I mean, as far as your stylist goes, you get what you get. However, you did really well seeming likable. There's something about your purity that leaks out. This is what we're going to use to get you through these next couple weeks."

"What do you mean?" I ask, and I genuinely don't know. What _is_ he talking about, my purity? How can I be pure? I'm being sent into an arena to kill people. There is nothing pure about that.

His face somehow seems a bit to light for me. Whatever his plan is, he clearly expects it to work. I don't know why this frightens me so much. "What I mean is that we are going to use your personality to win you sponsors. The more sponsors you have, the greater your chance for survival."

I raise my eyebrow. This is absolutely insane. What do I have to offer that will lead to sponsors? My so called 'purity' is false.

"We have to prepare carefully for your interview. I want you to win Panem over. Until then, let's talk about your strategy for the Games and for training."

This is the part I am most eager for. So far, I worry about my strategy. Earning sponsors is a great way to survive in the Games, but sponsors won't save me from the other tributes. If a tribute decides to kill me, especially a bloody death, I doubt anyone would go to great lengths to keep me alive.

"What am I supposed to do?" I ask, both desperate and attentive.

"For start, do not talk to the other tributes. If you have to speak to them, be polite and concise, got that?"

"Okay," I say, and before I can stop myself add, "But why?"

"We'll get to that." Coll's voice has a new quality to it, a little dark. "For training, I want you to concentrate on basic survival skills: How to light a fire, how to set snares, where to find food, what plants not to eat. That kinda stuff." He pauses to take a deep breath. "For your last day of training, learn hand-to-hand combat skills. Don't bother with long-range weapons. Those things take years to master, and if things get personal, they will be useless to you. But there are some basic fighting techniques that can be enough to get you out of snags. As long as you follow our strategy, you might not even need them.

"As for the other tributes, I want you to totally blend into the background. Don't appear threatening, in fact, keep as under the radar as possible. If they forget about you, they are less likely to go hunting for you. For that purpose, we need to select a number that you want to try to achieve in your private scores. We want to both catch sponsor's eyes, but we also want to not alert the other tributes to your presence."

"But if I have a lower score, won't the sponsors just ignore me?" My voice cracks and I cough. Coll orders me a glass of water, which is delivered to me by a young freckled boy in a suit. I sip the water as he answers.

"Not necessarily. Remember the boy who one who only got a 3 in training?" I nod silently. I do remember. The boy had been 15, from District 5. I remember his face very clearly. "Well I'm sure the audience is looking out for people like that now. So when you get a training score, look to get either a 5 or a 6." This seems excessively low to me, but I don't tell him that.

"For now, concentrate on one step at a time. Tomorrow morning, to the basement of the training center. That's where you'll be doing your actually training. Don't wait up for Chrome. Just do as your told by Coeus and go down. Then remember: Survival skills. Concentrate on only that tomorrow, okay?"

I open my mouth and manage to choke out and okay. I don't know what I am feeling suddenly, but it's got a big hold on me. The idea of training to survive, training to kill...it kills me. Coll must know that I am afraid. He reaches out and touches my cheek very gently, a gesture that sends tingles down my spine and tears to my eyes. This is an uncommon but very welcome touch. I need to be comforted right now, and Coll simply touching my cheek is enough warmth to get me back to my room, and to bed. I sleep dreamlessly that night.

The next morning, I awaken with a start. I look outside, and the sky is still dark, so I roll over and try to go back to sleep. No use. After another 2 hours of laying in bed, I decide to get up. In my closet is a tunic, a simple one with brown sides and the number 7 stitched into the sleeves. I take a deep breath as I put it on. I don't want the other tributes to see me. Even though we have not met, I am already scared of them.

I don't want them to kill me, and being honest, I don't want to kill them either. What if they are rude to me? What if one of them wants to ally with me while we're in the arena? What if they are nice? That question hits home to me. How am I supposed to sit back and let them die if they're good people? Another question freezes me: What if I want them to win?

Thinking like that isn't permissible. I must follow Coll's advice. No contact with the other tributes, and if they make contact, be polite. I'm 17, perfectly capable of fending people off with words. At least in training, it will be easier. Once the Games begin we will all be fighting to kill each other off.

I go out to breakfast and eat my fill of buttered waffles with beautiful red berries on them, beef cutlets, split pea soup, and a tangy orange juice that makes my throat sting. I sip on water when Chrome comes out. He is wearing a similar outfit to mine: brown with the number 7 stitched into the sides. While he is eating Coeus comes out from his quarters. He looks a little worse for wear. I wonder if he had been out partying all night.

Chrome has only just finished his breakfast when Coeus herds us together. "I'm supposed to take you down to training," he says. "But I'd rather not ride that elevator. Hit the button with the T on it. It'll take you to the basement where the training center is."

Neither Chrome nor I protest, but the ride down to the basement together is an awkward one. Thankfully it at the speed these elevators go, it is short. In the basement, some of the tributes have already gathered. Others are arriving after us. I keep my head down, but allow my eyes to wander.

Up close, the boy and girl from One don't look nearly as alike as they did on television. And despite the friendly appearances on television and at the chariot ride, the two of them standing together looks distinctly awkward. I guess they are not happy about the outcome of the Reaping. The girl from Two is a lot largerr than I'd originally thought, and up close, I can see her muscles rippling under her dark, satin skin. With her dreadlocks hanging down her back and her dark eyes peering up at people, she is actually a dangerous attractive that would no doubt get sponsors. Even the 12 year old boy from District 9, which his round eyes and sweet smile looks as though he could get more sponsors than me. Compare us all to the boy from Four, and none of us stand a chance.

Standing in a circle, we can't help but look at each other. I am pleased to see most of them barely glance at me before moving on. Clearly, they don't think of me as a threat. At least that means they won't be hunting me down early in the Games.

There is one person the tributes seem to have their eyes on. Even I can't help staring at her. I'd be surprised if she didn't know that everyone was looking at her. The girl from Eight, the blind girl, is standing next to her District partner. He is tall and sturdy looking, while she is small and fragile. It is almost sad that he isn't even looking at her. However, she is listening with mild interest as Atala finds her way to the center of the circle and begins to speak.

The first thing she begins to talk about is what the arena could hold. I think this is a fairly pointless conversation considering we won't know what is in the arena until we get there. Speculating won't change anything. After that, she begins pointing out each of the stations. Stations range from knot-tying, how to start a fire, and building shelters to weapons. The array of weapons in the building is incredible. Knives, spears, swords, even slingshots are everywhere. As expected, as soon as Atala dismisses us, it is this that the Careers- those from 1,2, and 4 –head straight towards.

I am not supposed to talk to the other tributes; am in fact supposed to be invisible to them. I head over to knot-tying. To my dismay, the twelve-year-old from Nine is there, and the blind girl from Eight is also heading that way. I decide to go there anyway, because it would be weird to walk around totally alone. Maybe I'll blend into the crowd this way.

It actually turns out to be fun. The boy from Nine quickly gets bored and wanders away, but the girl from Eight turns out to be fairly good at knot-tying. She's also is a very nice person, which makes my heart ache. I learn her name is Kali.

"Watch this," she says, weaving what appears to be a noose.

"How'd you do that?" I ask, looking carefully at it. Kali's strange, clear eyes are focused on a point over my shoulder. Or at least they would be if she could see. I noticed that she doesn't seem to blink as much.

"District 8 is textiles," she said. "But I can't really run any machines because I'm blind. Without sight, I have to work with my hands, so I do a lot of sewing."

This in intriguing to me, but Chrome, who has been watching us from waiting his turn at the spear-throwing station, finds his way over at this point and takes my place in the conversation. Currently, the boy and girl from 4 are there, taking turns spearing a dummy from across the room. She is slightly better than he is.

For the rest of the morning, Chrome, Kali and I make our way through the different stations. I notice that Kali uses slightly different techniques than what we do, for all the same things. She learns quickly and dives headfirst into each of the new skills. I find this sad, as I know there is no way this girl will make it even past the first day. Chrome, however, seems to relate to this side of the girl and they quickly make friends. By lunch, I cannot find any place to insert myself into their conversation, and just follow them around learning the new skills. I excel at edible plants and insects, and find my way into building snares with ease. When the first day of training is finally done, I feel weighed with knowledge I probably won't remember tomorrow.

Dinner is a simple affair. Everyone is laughing and talking and still ignoring us. No, not us. Chrome is part of the conversation now. I am still silent and ignored. I get this: They have chosen Chrome over me. They expect Chrome to win, not me.

I'm not sure how I feel about this, but combine this with the decadent food that I've never eaten before, and my stomach is churning before the second course. Since there is a button on my room that delivers food to me, I excuse myself from the table and go take a shower. The water is soothing on my skin, but doesn't help calm me.

Everyone has given up on me. Everyone expects me to die in these Games. My family back home, whatever their encouraging words, must be grieving right about now. My only friends back home are probably the only ones who have faith in me, and even then, only one can I really see sticking by me through the end. Even the District 7 team, which is here to prepare me for the bloodshed is already rooting for my district partner.

I hold my head under the water, letting the water brush my hair with the force. Here, I shed a few tears for myself in grief. No one believes in me. But with the tears comes the anger. _I_ believe in me. And I believe I will win.

When I am done, I put on a nightgown and prepare my bed. It is at this point that I hear a knock on my door and Emerson's deep voice. "Maple, can we talk?"

I open the door and look up at his tall figure. His dark hair is staring at me, his eyes penetrating right to the point of my fear. I don't feel my face change, but upon looking at me, his face becomes one of concern. "Are you okay?"

"Not feeling well," I admit.

He nods. "Understandable. Can I come in?"

I stand back and he walks over to my bed and sits down. I follow, not unwillingly, but carefully. I am not entirely sure what Coll wants. I sit on the edge of my bed next to him and look at him, nervous.

Emerson Coll is not one to waste time. "Let's talk about your training. What all did you do?"

So I tell him, starting from the very beginning. He wants every detail, from the look in the eyes of each tribute, to the shine of the weapons, to the way Kali managed to finally light a fire, to Chrome's excellence in training. He asks about each of the tributes, the progress that each of them made, what, if anything, they said to each other. When I am done wracking my brain trying to remember everything, he smiles.

"So you followed my advice. This is good, Maple."

I shrug. I'm not sure how I feel about this strategy. Down in training, I felt kind of lonely. Not even Chrome would pair up with me for training. Not that everyone down there was chummy, but the Careers kept together, and Chrome and Kali seemed to become almost friends.

His brow scrunches in concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I start to nod and then shake my head. There are tears in my eyes but I manage to hold them back. I am not sad. I feel hopeless. "Everyone's given up on me, haven't they?"

Coll takes a deep breath and I know in that instant that I am right, but he will not want to admit it. "The Games are tough, Maple. I'm not gonna lie to you, you might not have what it takes."

Hearing him say that forces the tears again, only this time, I can't stop them. This is cruel, I think. Even my own mentor is willing to give up on me. "Then why do I even bother trying?"

Coll looks at me and his face turns to one of indignation. "Hey, don't think like that. I believe in you, but if you're thinking like that, you really won't make it." I am shaking a little, feeling overwhelmed. "You have to trust me. I have experience with these Games. I know how they work. Stick to the plan, and you'll do fine."

"But when I'm in the arena, I won't have you there to tell me what to do," I blurt out.

"Trust your instincts," he says readily. "You're smart, and if we follow my steps, the other tributes won't be targeting you."

"What about later in the Games? I can't avoid them forever!"

"Yes you can," he responds, sounding as though it was obvious. "Others have done it. Remember that boy who won 5 years ago?" I try to think back. He had been a mildly attractive boy from District 6. No one had even remembered the boy was in the Games until all other tributes had died out. When there were only two tributes left, the girl from 4 thought for sure she had one. But with her injuries, she wasn't able to find or kill the boy from Six, and so he won.

"You want me to be that boy?" I ask, unsure.

"No, I want you to be yourself. But have faith. It can be done."

Faith. That was something that I hadn't thought of before. Could I seriously win these Games on faith alone? We'd have to see.


	4. Chapter 4

Training goes by fast over the next few days. While I keep mostly to myself, I can't help but interact with the other tributes when we're at the same stations. The girl from District 6 is my sparing partner in hand-to-hand combat on the third day. Her name is Maya, and she too has never had any training. I meet the boy from Eight as we learn to fish together, but I can't remember his name. I even overhear the name of the boy from Four: Corbus. While he is skilled with a spear, he does take some time to learn survival skills, and I'm not sure how I feel about this.

While I work with these tributes, and even learn some of their names, I don't really get to know them, nor them me. They seem perfectly okay with that. I, however, am curious about them. What is life in their district like? Do the people of Six get to travel? What does the ocean look like in person? Are there many blind people in Eight? I wish I could see where they each come from in person, and meet people there. I wish the people I was meeting from there weren't going to be out to kill me in a few days.

The last day of training comes very quickly. I have not mastered hand-to-hand combat, but I've gotten pretty good. My wits outweigh my strength, but I have no idea what to show the Gamemakers. What on earth could I show them that would make them give me a good score? Coll said to aim for a score between 4 and 6. I thought these were pretty low, but he had his heart set on that interval.

We all eat lunch, only this time, no one appears to be talking. Chrome and Kali sit together murmuring, but it's too quiet for any of the other tributes to make out. I am a little disappointed in Chrome. He has had his eye on the blind girl from Eight since he first met her, but he has barely spoken to me at all. I'm his District partner, and he chose a blind girl he'd never met before as an ally over me! Don't our similar backgrounds mean anything to him? All those years passing each other in the halls at school. Chrome is a year older than me, but that doesn't mean we've never interacted before. One time, Chrome had to come to my house to help my brother with a school project. He was pretty polite. He also works in the paper factory where I work. Aren't these things important to him?

I guess not, because he is totally ignoring me, like he did on Reaping day. I had hoped we were moving past that, but apparently we weren't.

Lunch ends quickly, and the boy from District 1 is called to do his private session with the Gamemakers. He throws the other Careers a look before disappearing into the training center.

I sit there and think about what I want to do. I have to decide quickly, because only 15 minutes are gone before the girl from One is being called. The Districts slip by, and I try to remember the tributes names. The boy from Two is Nereus. The girl from Four is Navina, the boy from Six is Rocky. Before I know it, Maya is being called and I know that District 7 is next. My mind is racing as I try to think about what on earth I could show the Gamemakers that will suit Coll's score-frame. I am still thinking it over when Chrome is called back and suddenly I must decide what I am going to do.

Chrome taps Kali on the shoulder. He stops and wishes me a quiet good luck before he is gone. I respond, "And you." And I know what I want to do when I go in.

Chrome takes a little longer than the other tributes have on average, and I wonder what he's showing them. Whatever it is it takes a bit longer. I feel as if time is dragging on and on when, out of nowhere, I am called.

I had thought I was prepared, but as I walk toward the door, I am nervous again, and questioning what I want to do again. Just before I enter, I pause and take a deep breath. Getting dizzy and falling over won't help me get a good score.

I straighten my back, puff my chest, and lift my head. This is my moment, and I can't allow it to be ruined by nerves.

I probably take the least amount of time of everyone that day. I walk straight over to the edible bugs and insects tester and begin. In less than 10 minutes, I am dismissed and walking out of the room.

The rest of the day is spent waiting for the other tributes to get done. I am allowed to be in my room for this, so I spend my day trying on different outfits and thinking of all the things I wish I could ask my parents. They've spent years watching the Hunger Games. I wonder what they will think of my score. What did they think of my costume at the tribute parade? Do they really think I will win this Game?

Dinner comes quicker than expected, and I realize how hungry I am. I go out and eat a hearty meal- marinated blackened chicken with romaine lettuce, all in a creamy sauce made out of I don't know what. The meal is delicious, and I request seconds. This is the first time I have requested seconds since arriving in the Capitol. Coll seems to take notice of this.

"About time you started enjoying the food here."

"What can I say," I respond spiritedly. "I have a small stomach."

He smiles at me. "What did you do in your private session?"

I feel as if this is a very personal question to ask amongst the others, especially with Chrome there. I answer him anyway, "I did the edible plants and bugs station. It was probably record time. I completed that thing in under five minutes."

Coll's eyes pop. "Wow. Good job!"

Chrome nods. "That's cool, Maple. Really."

"Thanks," I answer, and I can't refrain my curiosity. "What did you do?"

He shrugged. "I did some knife fighting."

I stare at him in shock. "Why did it take you so long?" but he just shrugs. He doesn't want me to know. I guess I should have expected this. After all, we're not allies, or even friends at this point. I have to stop seeing Chrome as somebody from home, a fellow District 7 player. He is just another tribute, no matter where he is from, and in 2 days time he will be out to get me just like everybody else.

I can't run and hide in my room this time. The scores will be shown after dinner, and although I am not required to be there, it wouldn't be prudent of me to miss the final scores. Betting odds won't be released until after the interviews the night before the Games themselves. A sickening feeling pierces my stomach. That's only three days away…

Dinner ends in a quick affair and we all tune into the television. The seal of Panem, followed by the anthem, and then the training scores. They show a picture of the tribute with their score underneath.

Naturally, the boy and girl from One score high, with a 9 each. The poor duo look so similar, with blonde hair and green eyes. Even their scores are the same, yet one or both of them is doomed to die. They must have the Capitol around their little fingers.

The girl from Two scores a 10, but the boy only scores an 8. Both from 3 score in the middle. The boy from Four scores an 11, but the girl gets a 9. Afterwards, the scores are all roughly in the middle. Chrome is shown before me, and he manages to pull a 10. Everyone is still cheering him when my picture is shown, and my name pops up on the screen. I forget to breathe as a 6 passes over the screen. A six! I feel as if I have been ripped off. What on earth is a score of 6 going to get me? No sponsors? A slow painful death?

I realize in that moment how much I wanted a higher score. I wanted to prove to the other tributes that I wasn't just another girl, an easy kill. I wanted to bring my family comfort and to impress Coeus, who I feel doesn't totally support me in these Games. But Coll is nodding and Titra, who stopped by to see the scores, is patting me on the back.

"Congratulations," Chrome is saying, but I think there is an air of superiority in his voice. He knows he did much better than me.

"Thanks," I say, fighting a smile. "And you as well. That was some score."

He just shrugs. There is a certain awkwardness in the air, so I don't really argue when Coll pulls me aside. "That was a good score, Maple," he says, his voice lighter than I'd heard it in days.

"No, it wasn't," I answer dejectedly. "Chrome had a good score. A six won't get me anything."

"Yes it will," Coll argues back. "The first thing it will give you is a longer life. Do you think the Careers would let you go easy if you'd gotten a ten? Chrome might be looking good right about now, but once that gong sounds, they will be hunting him first."

"But I'm an easy kill!" My face must be turning red, as I can feel the heat boiling under my cheeks. Either I am about to cry or I am about to scream. Or both.

Coll snorts in disgust. "I would have thought years of watching Hunger Games would tell you that having a low score does not make you an easy kill. Remember the boy with the 3, Maple."

I stare at him. He does have a point. "But sponsors- "

"A six is a great score for someone from District 7. Sponsors will notice you. We just have to make sure you do great in your interview, and the table is set."

The next day is spent coaching me. Coeus and Coll take turns teaching me all sorts of new things, things that I find unimportant but I know the sponsors will love: How to walk in heels, how to properly sit like a lady, not to pick the skin under my nails (which I frequently do), how to answer politely and courteously. Coll wants me to be innocent, so he encourages me to ask questions. He wants me to smile a lot, although the muscles in my face are starting to hurt for the sheer effort it takes to pull off a winning smile. He also wants me to answer every question smoothly and honestly. This is hard, because many of the questions are personal ones. Despite my strange ways and short answers, Coll has a smile all over his face. He asks about any pets at home and I tell him about our only pet, a goat that we sell as a stud to other goats. He asks about my siblings and I have to tell him about Birch's weird antiques, Aspen's attitude, Chester's encouragement, and Olive's sense of humor. When he asks about my parents I almost cry, but he encourages me to and somehow it brings him to the edge of his chair. When exactly it turns from coaching to really listening, I don't know, but by the end of the session, Emerson Coll knows me far better than I ever wanted him to. I wonder if this will help me win.

That night at dinner is the first time I have seen Chrome all day. He is sullen and quiet, but doesn't look angry. In fact, I think he looks thoughtful. This is a change from his usual angry demeanor. I have learned in the last few days that Chrome, despite his angry outward appearance, is actually a nice guy who just happens to have a dour resting face.

That night, I sleep well for the first time since arriving in the Capitol. I don't have any dreams, or if I do, I don't remember them. Morning comes too quickly for my liking. I don't feel well rested when I wake up, and just want to roll over and go back to sleep. Apparently, however, Titra has a long day planned for me. My prep team pulls me out of bed before the sun rises. First, they wash me in a sickly smelling green bath, then pull me out and get started. They pluck every hair from body give a few eyebrow hairs and my lashes. They scrub my feet, hands, cheeks, scalp, back, bottom, and legs until they are raw. The shampoo they use on my hair smells like strange forest fauna, and makes me miss home again.

I am stark naked, bare red, and exhausted by the time Titra gets there. Today he is wearing a printed blue and green shirt, and his orange hair is cropped into a bob complete with curls. This just completes the image of District 4 in my mind, and makes me wonder what the District 4 stylist is like.

"You have a fabulous head of hair," Titra says suddenly, making me jump. He ignores my start and continues as if nothing happened. "You're fairly long-legged and you've got gorgeous eyes. How tall are you?"

I shrug. "Five seven."

He nods approvingly. "You're one of the tallest female tributes this year. This is all good for you. As it goes, don't know what to put you in. Your mentor said to put you in something to make you look innocent, however, I really think short gowns would not work with your bowed legs and anything that doesn't squeeze in at the waist will make you look too fat."

As he is talking, I look down at all these things I never noticed about myself before. Bowed legs? Is he referring to the way my calves curl inward? And too fat? I'm skin an bones! Maybe some meat on me will have the sponsors betting on me more.

So begins the trying of the dresses. We start out with dresses that cut off above the knee, but Titra shakes his head before I am finished zipping the dresses up. He has ones that blossom out at my chest and come down, making me look younger. Titra doesn't like these either. Finally, we decide to go with long gowns. At least we know my dress will come to the floor. Then comes the different colors, the different patterns, the different fabrics, the different top pieces. I begin to feel like a mannequin in my own body. Titra doesn't even have me put on the dresses anymore; I just hold them up to myself as if I was wearing them and he decides.

I watch the ever growing pile of rejects with a frustrated air. Not just the fact that I was up before the sun, or that I was plucked like a chicken before supper, or that Titra doesn't seem to want my opinion on any of the clothes, but just the pile alone frustrates me. All of these clothes: What will happen to them? Will they be sold to the public? Will they be thrown out? The idea angers me. These nice clothes have no place in any of the districts. Even when we have an occasion to wear pretty clothes, the ones we own are nowhere near as nice as these. These are the kind of dresses one only wears when they are prepped to die, or if they grew up in the Capitol. That's it.

At one point, Titra must have made decisions on fabric and style, because he starts pulling out dresses and having me try them on. Finally, he puts me in one that falls to the floor. The dress itself is gorgeous: black, purple, green, reds yellows and blues. All of it swirls around the dress giving it a pattern I can only describe as an ocean, although I have never seen one myself.

I am not allowed to see myself, so they sit me down and begin to work once again on my hair. Titra wants it down, so the prep team decides that they want it waved, then curled, then straight again, then with streaks, then without them. They want it braided, down, ponytail, out of my face, in my face, out of my face again, behind my ears, covering my ears, parted to the side, parted straight, not parted at all but flipped over the one side. I feel like they play with my hair longer than Titra took trying on dresses.

Eventually then come to a decision and get to work. It takes them less time to put my hair the way they wanted it than it did for them to decide. And finally, finally, I am put into my shoes and in front of a mirror.

I was right about the ocean. It looks like I am draped in it. The dress is a halter with no back, but falls elegantly to my feet. My hair is parted to the side with a minor curl. The side where it is parted is tucked behind my ear while the rest is left the way it was. I have a diamond in my ears. My make-up is on point, matching the colors of the dress exactly. My eyes are bright green today. And while I look totally familiar, I look totally different. I smile as soft a smile I can manage, and suddenly I look shy, kind, curious, just like the picture they took of me on my first day. I can't help but get a little teary-eyed as I look at this totally new me.

"Wow Titra," I breathe. "Thank you so much."

His bright orange lips pull up into a smile. "You like it?"

Sometimes, the tributes come out looking bizarre, but not me, not this year. I turn to look at him, my hair bobbing as I turn. "I really do. I think Emerson Coll will like it too."

"I hope so!" Titra bursts. "We put a lot of work into this look. Anyway girlie, you've got to go join the other tributes. They will be waiting."

I nod and head out, holding my skirt with one arm and letting the rest of sweep out behind me. The effect is immediate. This skirt is me, my personality in fabric. The people of District 8, whose specialty is textiles where they make fabrics, have gone above and beyond.

Chrome comes out of his room just as I approach it. He is wearing a black suit with a studded navy blue tie. The whole outfit has a distinctly roughed up feel about it, as though he was stuffed into it. His hair is neatly combed, but still in his face, and his eyes are hidden behind them. He stops and stares at me though, looking me up and down.

"You look great," he says at last, and I smile. He stares at me while I respond,

"You look good too, Chrome!"

He shrugs nonchalantly, and we meander over to where Coeus is supposed to take us down. Five, then ten minutes pass, and Coeus doesn't show up. The interviews are supposed to be starting soon. Chrome and I really don't have time to wait, so we take ourselves to the elevator and hit the button for the lobby. Since we're not entirely sure where we're supposed to be, we hope that maybe we'll catch a glimpse of the other tributes, which would give us a clue.

As it turns out, the stage has been set up in the city circle just outside the lobby. Most of the other tributes are already there, in line. Only a spare few are absent. Everyone looks at us as we approach. They don't outright stare as we take our place in line, but their eyes flash our way. Chrome wanders over to where Kali is standing and immediately engages in conversation. Kali is wearing a dress that wraps around her body. A jewel has been stuck to her head right between her eyes. I've never seen that before, but it looks good on her.

It is here, standing in line, that I first hear the deep voice. I'd heard it in the background once or twice, but never directed at me. "Nice dress," says the boy from Four. He is not wearing a suit. In fact, he is not even wearing a shirt. He has what looks like a net fashioned around his waste, where he is wearing what can only be swimming trunks. His large muscles ripple in the low lights.

"Thanks," I whisper, afraid to speak, my eyes widening.

He is still looking me up and down. "It reminds me of home. Of the sea."

I blink. So I had been right about the ocean part. "Yeah, Titra went above and beyond this year. I really like it."

He doesn't smile, but he nods before he walks away. I want to take this as a good sign. Maybe he thinks the girl from his district should be wearing this dress instead of me. She is wearing a short solid green dress. Her dress is the color of salt water, I think. It is sleeveless and comes down to her thighs. She is wearing glass heels to make her taller. Even so, she barely comes up to her district partner's shoulders. Her brown hair is a bundle of curls. She doesn't turn to acknowledge me in any way. Even so, she looks really good. Everyone does. How am I supposed to stand out from everyone?

I barely have time to think about it before we are all put into a single file line, district order with girls in front of boys, and being sent out onto the stage.


	5. Chapter 5

The stage is brightly lit, so I cannot see the audience. I can hear Caesar Flickerman though. He is introducing us as the 66th Hunger Games tributes. I try so hard to peer into the audience. I can't see anyone specific, but I force myself to smile and wave at people as we walk to our seats.

I am squished between the boy from Six and Chrome as we take our seats. Somehow, this becomes and exciting moment for me. In these next few moments, I would have to show Panem exactly who I am. I'd also get to see the other tributes.

Caesar comes into focus. His color this year is a deep gold. I appreciate this, because it reminds me of sunlight through the fall trees. It brings a warm smile to my face.

Caesar calls forward Shine, the girl from One, and the interviews begin.

The boy and girl from One are wearing matching blue outfits this year. Caesar asks them what they think about both being called. I remember the girl says in a deep, husky voice that she thinks her brother will be her greatest asset.

Sheen, the boy, has a surprising light and feminine voice. He is shy while his sister was a little more aggressive. The girl from Two is the only one of us tributes to wear all black. She is wearing a form fitting, solid black dress that covers from her neck to her thighs. She is also wearing large, solid black heels that come to a point. I learn her name is Acantha, but that's about all I get from her. Her answers are short, to the point, if a little cocky. Her muscles ripple, and with the heels, she is the tallest female tribute on stage.

Nereus, the boy from Two, is cocky all the way. He is ready to kill, he says, ready for the honor. The girl from Three is pleasant, the boy humbled. Navina, the girl from Four is sexy, Corbus is ambitious. Five and Six go by in a haze. I know Maya is smart. The boy from Six's name is Rocky.

Suddenly, Caesar is saying, "And now, from District 7, Maple Griffin!"

I rise, force a smile, hitch my dress up a miniscule amount and trot over as confidently as I can to where Caesar is waiting for me. He holds out his hand expectantly, and I place mine in his as gently as I can.

"Oh Maple," Caesar begins immediately. "You look wonderful. How does it feel to be in that dress?"

"Isn't it fabulous?" I answer, forgetting training and just wanting to be honest. "Titra and my prep team did such an amazing job."

"Let's hear it for Titra and for her prep team!" Caesar says, and the audience applauds. When it dies down, Caesar turns to me. "Now, I hear you have a pretty big family back home."

"Yes," I say, smiling at him as he talks.

"How many siblings do you have?"

"I am the youngest of five," I say, and I can hear the audience start to applaud. "I have four older siblings."

Caesar tries to look amazed. "And none of them got reaped before you?"

"That's because I'm obviously the best suited to win," I answer before I can stop myself, and the audience starts laughing. None as much as Caesar, who gives a loud chuckle.

"I'll take those odds," he answers, still laughing. "Me too," I say as the crowd laughs again, but I am drowned out as Caesar begins his next question. "And I also hear that you have a tradition in District 7 for the families of the other tributes. Tell us about that."

"Well," I begin, not quite sure how to put it. Honesty has worked for me so far, so I go that route. "After the Games each year, I take the families of the fallen tributes flowers, to respect the fallen tribute. It's sort of about honor. You know each District roots for their own tribute, so I want them to know their kid isn't forgotten."

The audience gives a loud sigh, and I wonder if it is in exasperation or genuine feeling. Caesar looks like he's genuinely interested. "That's really nice. Very nice. Did they come to see you at the Reaping?"

"They did," I answer. "They brought me flowers."

The sigh I hear from the audience this time I think is real. They feel for me.

"Well," says Caesar. "If you win, you can bring them flowers every year."

I smile cheekily again. "You know, when I win, I will."

The audience laughs again. Caesar goes right into his next question. "And what is your strategy for winning this year's Games?"

But I shake my head. "No sir, my lips are sealed," I add at the last second, just to give them something to think about, "But let me say, this years Games are going to be interesting."

The buzzer sounds then, and I am breathless because I survived the interview. Caesar dismisses me and I heartily wave goodbye and take my seat.

Chrome is sullen and surly again. Caesar asks him if has any family, and he simply says "Yes," and doesn't explain. He asks him how he got his ten in training and Chrome answers "No." From there on out, it is all yes and no questions. Chrome does not smile. He does not even pretend to be interested. In fact, as far as interviews go, I am thinking that Chrome is the one with the least amount of personality. Yet he gets a striking applause as he sits down again, and I join in out of sheer kindness.

Kali is up next. She got a score of 4 in training, but they talk about other things. They talk about her blindness, and if she thinks it will be a disadvantage in the arena. I really feel bad for Kali in this moment. She has to explain her disability to Caesar and to Panem. She explains her weird quirks, how she counted the steps between Caesar and her seat so she can quietly resume it once her interview is done. This takes the majority of her interview. He doesn't even ask her for her strategy in the Games, which I think is kind of rude. Clearly, he has written her off in the Games. I think if I was a sponsor, I'd want to know this girl's strategy. I'd want to know what she was up to in the Games. I wonder if I'd bet on her, just to help her out.

But when they move on, I feel as if Kali is forgettable. At least half the audience is betting against her, putting down money that she won't survive the first day at the cornucopia. Sadness pierces me. I have no right to self pity in the wake of Kali's interview. At least I don't _know_ I am doomed to die.

I cannot bring myself to pay attention for the rest of the interviews. I spend them mildly unfocused, staring at the other tributes as they come and go. I clapped for Chrome because he is my district partner, but from there on, I don't clap. The interviews go by fairly quickly after that, and I am brought from my stupor by the anthem playing. All the excitement I felt for my interview is gone, just as the interview itself is over.

After the anthem, we file back off stage and immediately separate into our own little clumps back. I end up in an elevator with Maya, Kali, Chrome, and the boy from Eight. The car stops once before it is our turn. I step off immediately, but Chrome stays behind and chitchats. I don't want to know what he is up to. I go straight to my room and stare at myself in the mirror. I don't look that much different that earlier, but now I barely recognize myself. What happened to me? How am I getting into this? People are going to die tomorrow-my heart skips a beat. Tomorrow, all 24 of us will be sent to an arena to kill each other off until only one of us is left. Everyone of them, Maya, Kali, Rocky, Chrome, will be dead. Even the twins from One, the boy from Four, the 12 year old from Nine (whose name I never learned), the skeletons from Twelve. All of them are going to be facing death in the next couple weeks. I will be too. There is no guarantee that I will survive. Coll made me promise to act as though I will survive, but I can't stop myself from admitting that the next couple of weeks will be hardest of my life.

I go out to dinner simply to please Emerson and Coeus. The latter is there, smelling faintly of whisky and a little too happy to see me. He apologizes for missing out on us earlier, that he had been at a party and forgotten to come. Chrome shrugs and I ignore him. No one cares that we are about to die, or if they do, they keep it to themselves.

We watch a rerun of the interviews, and I see every one of them in a new light. The couple from One are still a set, but the girl from Two is angry, the boy from Two is annoying, the girl from Four is shallow, the boy from Four level-headed. I seem silly and awkward, although everyone tells me the audience didn't see me that way. Coll doesn't come out and say it, although he hints that he has already got a couple sponsors lined up. Chrome seems aggressive, and opposed to my earlier opinion where I thought he had no personality, Chrome shines in this interview. It's clear afterwards that the audience wants to get know more of Chrome, is frustrated by his unwillingness to speak up.

I was right about Kali being a hopeless case. They barely show her before moving on to her district partner, who turns out to be named Ramsey. I am forcibly thrown back to Charmaine. The image of her standing on the steps of the Justice Building after being Reaped is called forth. She had been tall, with long straight brown hair. I remember for her interview, she was wearing a silver gown complete with a flower in her hair. Her interview had shown her as polite and shy. They had asked her tactic for winning the Games, and she had simply said that she was ready to go and couldn't wait to see the Capitol again. I wonder who her mentor had been.

The interviews end and the seal of Panem is on the screen before it goes black. There is an eerie silence over the whole lot of us. Tomorrow, Chrome and I will be roused early in the morning, separately, and taken to the arena. The Games will begin at exactly 10am. Usually, the Capitol citizens like to sleep in, but tomorrow, they will be waking up early, excited for this years Games. Neither Coeus, nor Coll will be with me when I travel to the arena, so this is the last time I will see either of them until the end of the Games. _When I win…_ I force myself to think.

Coeus comes and hugs me. "You've been good, Maple. Good luck tomorrow." I nod as he moves on to Chrome. Coll is standing, looking me up and down. Finally, he put his hands on my shoulders and looks into my face. "You are going to be okay tomorrow, okay Maple? Just remember, avoid the other tributes, stay away from the cornucopia, and you'll be fine."

I nod, feeling a little sick. Tomorrow in the arena, I will be totally alone.

"Trust your instincts," he says at last. "And _don't_ trust the other tributes, not even Chrome, okay?"

I nod again, taking a deep breath. I think I am shaking, and Coll pulls me into a tight hug. I don't know how to react, so I pull back. This is possibly the last embrace I will feel in a long time, and so I decide to soak it up. I am pretending that this is my mother, any of my siblings, my best friend, Chrome, and especially my mother when all too soon Coll is pulling back and I know it is time to let go. For one instant, I say to my mother in my head _I love you and I will be back soon for you._

Coll looks seriously at me for a long moment before nodding and we part ways. Despite my fear and agitation, I can't help but appreciate Emerson Coll and all that he has done for me in the last week. I think he was really trying to help me out, and wants to see me succeed. I can only hope that from this point on, I don't disappoint.

I have fitful dreams that night. I keep seeing the boy from Four stabbing Chrome, all of the tributes are at each other's throats and through it all, Acantha (the girl from Two) is walking between all the carnage straight towards me. My heart skips a beat, and I think to myself that she is the one to fear. Then I pan out and am watching this with the rest of my family in our family room, on our dinky television. My mother is crying and my dad is shouting that I have to run! Run! And so I take off as fast as my legs will let me, but it's not enough, it's never enough…

I awaken in the morning shaky and panicky, sweat pouring off of me from under the sheets. The sun is just rising on the horizon, so I decide to get up and shower. The hot water pours down my body, washing away the sweat and replacing it with a sickly sweet smell of roses. I towel dry today and go to the closet. This is my last chance to wear what I want, so I put on a nice dress and shorts combination that I might wear at home.

The hovercraft is waiting for me outside, where we had our interviews. Titra is there, and I run to him despite the fact that he cannot bring me comfort. His gentle squeeze on my hand helps me breathe easier. The ride to the arena is pretty long. I think it might take the majority of the time between my waking and my arriving at the arena. I can't see what it looks like because they close the windows with dark metal as we approach, so I don't know what will be waiting for me on the other side.

Titra and I land underground. From here, we make our way through catacombs to what will be my launch room. It is comfy looking. A table is set up with all kinds of food on it, a cough is set up against one wall. All of this is set facing the launch pad: a glass tube with a rising metal plate. It is on that very plate that I will rise to face the cornucopia and my competitors. I have to stop thinking of them as fellow tributes. I have to stop thinking of them as fellow anythings. They are now all my potential killers, from sweet Maya, to my own District partner Chrome, to blind Kali. Any single one of them could be the one that ends my life, and I can't pretend this isn't a little daunting.

My time in the launch room passes in a blur. Titra puts my hair in a simple ponytail and helps me into my uniform. It is a black and gray uniform with a brown stripe on each of my upper arms. This is not the jumpsuit I took my picture with upon my arrival in the Capitol. It still has the brown on it, I guess to signal my home District. I can only guess the others will have this too. The girl from Two pops into my head. Her stripe will be maroon. Kali's will be goldenrod, my favorite color. Maya will be wearing tomato red.

Titra is still examining my jumpsuit long after I have put it on, and so I ask him what it is he is looking for.

"Sorry," he says, shaking his head. "It's a water suit."

"What?" I ask, flabbergasted.

"It's a water suit, designed not to chafe. It'll dry really quick. It's also designed to deflect heat."

I am so surprised by this revelation that I just shake my head. "What does that mean?"

He looks at me the most serious I have seen him look this entire week. "Expect to get wet."

There is no response I can give to this except a nod, so that's all I do. I try to look confident, for his sake, but I feel about as opposite I can get to confident. Get wet? What does that mean? What is waiting for me in this arena?

A voice comes from an intercom overhead somewhere, "30 seconds to launch."

Thirty seconds to launch. That means I have to get in the pod now. I try to not to shake as I give Titra my final hug. It's a quick squeeze, but it has it's own calming effect. I don't have room to be nervous anymore.

I step into the pod and look up immediately, curious as to what's above me. It's a long way up. I can just see the light at the top of the tunnel. I suddenly hear the glass seal behind me and know there is no going back. I turn around to look at Titra and he just waves a little. He is smiling. How on earth can he be smiling when I am going to probably die in the next hour or so? Maybe he is so used to District 7 tributes dying that it doesn't affect him anymore.

The ground begins to rise below me and I am almost thrown off balance. So curious am I as to what's around me that I find myself clutching the glass and trying to peer out. The ride takes nearly half as long as I thought it would, because the glass slides away from me and sunlight fills my vision.

My vision clears and I can't breathe anymore. Titra was right to expect to get wet.

I am surrounded by water.


End file.
